


my lights stay up but your city sleeps

by halcyonidae



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pheromones, Pining, Pon Farr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 20:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20346571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyonidae/pseuds/halcyonidae
Summary: Shiro has known the truth since the day he met him: Keith has never needed him to be great.Everyone else who sees it now is just making up for lost time.





	my lights stay up but your city sleeps

**Author's Note:**

> FOR #4
> 
> Memer, I hope you like it!
> 
> Goes completely off canon after S8E1. Title from Fever by Carly Rae Jepsen.

One month into space, they’ve searched all of the closest Galran outposts several star systems over to find no sign of Honerva, her robeasts, or the Altean colony.

His crew grows more restless with every abandoned station and he feels it too: an unrelenting itch under his skin that spreads with the lack of news and shoulders growing tight with the increasing surety of that something, somewhere, is going _wrong_. So when Keith stops by his office before the night shift with a crooked smile like the old days, Shiro finds it hard to say no and even harder to keep Keith down on the mats.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Shiro pants, already on the defense. He has to dodge a punch with gritted teeth; when Keith tries to double back with another blow, he drops and lands a kick to Keith’s chest, who manages to flip mid-air so he skids back on his feet.

Shiro crouches down into position, waiting.

“Too long,” Keith agrees. He grins at him, loose and reckless, before running at him at full speed. “Can that arm keep up?”

Shiro grins back, heart beating faster. “Try me.” He brings the roboarm up just in time to guard his face from a high kick; Keith uses the momentum to somersault backward in retreat before Shiro can grab his ankle. The brief weight of him reverberates up his arm, and Shiro swears he can feel Keith all the way into his shoulder port. 

He feels better than he has in weeks. Months, even.

“I missed this,” Shiro says when they both pause to catch their breath. He wipes down his face with the hem of his shirt, relishing the reprieve from sweaty clothing sticking to his skin. Keith makes a noise that Shiro looks up at, brows furrowed.

“Yeah,” Keith says hoarsely, looking back. Suddenly he sprints forward; when Keith launches himself at him with a shout, Shiro twists back in time to feel Keith’s hair tickle his cheek as he rolls over him, the neck of his shirt hanging low to frame where sweat dots the line of his collarbone. Then Keith hooks his foot around Shiro’s ankle and he topples to the floor with a grunt.

Immediately Keith straddles him, his knee pinning his human arm down and a hand firmly gripping the roboarm. His chest heaves with the effort, his hair plastered across his forehead. Technically Shiro could launch the arm at him and wrestle back control, but Keith gives him such a smug look that Shiro throws his head back and laughs instead.

“You got me,” he says, and Keith moves back just enough for him to bring his arms up in surrender. He smiles up at him, absurdly fond in defeat. There’s a pang somewhere behind his ribs that he has no idea how to identify. “You’ve really come into your own, Keith.”

At that, Keith’s smug look softens, his gaze burning hotter as his chin lifts in challenge; Shiro’s struck with the well-worn memory of flying across the desert on the back of his old hoverbike, just the two of them against a burning sunset as sand kicks up in their wake. Whenever they went soaring off the cliffs, Keith would look back at him like that every time, daring him to catch up. 

He’s buried how much he’d think about those days back in the arena and with deep regret, he realizes he never took the chance to go on one last ride with Keith before they had to launch back out into the void.

Keith opens his mouth, his eyes briefly searing gold in the overbearing fluorescent lights, and Shiro almost drifts forward to meet him before he can stop himself.

“Excuse me,” says a timid voice from across the gym. Just like that, the moment is gone; Keith climbs off of him with some modicum of grace as Shiro sits up. They turn to see one of the junior officers poking her head through the door, who flushes in recognition as she stiffens up in salute. Shiro rolls his shoulders down and summons a polite smile.

“Hey,” and it takes a moment until he remembers the woman’s name, “Cadet Ross, right? At ease.”

“Sir,” Ross says apologetically. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but it’s time for our class.” Behind her, her fellow junior officers wave their yoga mats at them.

“We’ll be right out,” Keith says, already moving away from him. Shiro stands and dusts himself off.

As Keith passes by her to grab their towels, Ross’s head snaps up as she’s rolling her mat out. Suddenly she tries to get up too fast and loses her balance, falling down hard; in the resulting silence, the rest of the yoga group stops laying their mats out to ogle.

Nonplussed, Keith offers her a hand; she stares at it for a while, stunned by its presence. Her mouth drops open, but no words come out; instead, she squeaks. Her face turns bright red.

After a long moment, Keith slowly pulls his hand back.

“Keith, would you like to join us!” Officer Catalina shouts in his ear, and Shiro fumbles to catch her water bottle when she accidentally chucks it at him. Keith frowns.

“I don’t know any yoga.”

“I bet you would be really good,” says one of the other officers, who seems to be trying to squeeze the life out of his own yoga mat. Several cadets nod fervently.

“Flexibility is important!”

“Um. No, but thanks,” Keith says. He gestures at the wall. “I have to go… somewhere.” He backs off in slow, stiff motions as if Ross might make him stay and demonstrate downward facing dog.

Shiro bites down on laughter and follows him to the door. “Have a good class, officers,” he says as firmly as he can. As they leave, he hears a murmur of disappointment before the door slides shut.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stick around for yoga?” Shiro teases after they're a safe distance away. Keith shrugs and doesn’t answer, but he eases his stride to walk shoulder to shoulder with him. It’s louder in the main area of the gym, but they find some unoccupied mats in the corner and stretch in companionable silence.

“It’s good,” Shiro says as he works out his shoulder with a wince. Allura’s arm is easier to carry, but he still aches where the metal meets skin if he’s not careful. “It’s not a surprise they want to get to know you better. Make friends.”

“I’ve got all the friends I need.” Keith doesn’t look up from massaging out his hamstring. 

He said that once before, back when Shiro was only weeks away from leaving for Kerberos. He remembers how jittery he had been, so full of excitement; space had always felt like possibility stretching into infinity, the kind that scared you and thrilled you in equal measure. But the Keith he knew back then hadn’t learned how to bury his edges yet, and so Shiro had worried that a year away would be painful in ways unknown.

Back then he didn't know how right he would turn out to be.

Shiro’s communicator chooses that moment to beep. He pulls it out, sees the message from Sam, and sighs, rolling his neck to relieve the pressure. He gets to his feet. “No, you should stay,” he says when Keith moves to get up too. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to miss dinner.”

Regret blooms in Shiro’s chest. It’s not often that he gets to hang with Keith like this anymore, and there are days where it feels the most like a missing limb. “We should do this again,” he offers, and Keith shakes his head. 

“I know you’re busy.” His expression is unreadable. “It’s fine, I’ll see you.”

Shiro doesn’t deny it. “I’ll see you around.”

In retrospect, he should have paid more attention that day. It's the first inkling he gets that there is something off about his crew when it comes to Keith.

—

It doesn’t escape him that whenever he does see Keith, though few and far between, Keith turns heads wherever he goes. He’s always turned heads, but Shiro sees the way they all straighten up this time, their faces turned toward him like flowers searching for the sun. The same way Shiro turns to him now, wanting nothing more than to fall into his orbit. 

He thinks it’s only natural; Shiro’s always known that one day, he will see the back of him as Keith reaches greater heights than anyone can possibly imagine. He tells himself that this is everything he wants for them, Keith leading them all into the brightest of futures as Shiro does whatever he can to make sure Keith gets there. He tells himself that stepping back, giving them room and time, isn't one of the hardest things he had to do.

Shiro has known the truth since the day he met him: Keith has never needed him to be great.

Everyone else who sees it now is just making up for lost time.

—

The next time he sees Keith, they’re running drills; the six months after the Altean robeast attacked Earth weren’t nearly long enough to work out all the flaws in their newer battle protocols, and it soothes all of their nerves to practice.

Keith's composure is a balm over the comms as he issues orders while the Lions practice defensive maneuvers with the MFE pilots. Keith neatly flies Black between two of the MFE fighter jets, guarding them even as he flies circles around them.

“Oh, wow,” Rizavi says dreamily. “Will you take me flying sometime?”

There’s staticky silence, and then Keith says, confused, “We’re… already flying.”

Rizavi starts to stammer, and he can almost feel her embarrassment pouring over the airwaves. Veronica snorts so hard she starts coughing, and like a good ripple effect, the entire bridge collapses into laughter with her. Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose and wonders if it’s too early in the day to take a nap yet. Next to him, Iverson seems to be doing the same thing.

“Besides,” Keith continues, deadly serious. “I don’t need to teach you anything.”

“Wow,” Lance says, clearly trying not to burst into laughter. “That was almost nice!”

“She’s a good pilot on her own, why would I need to teach her—”

“Guys,” Shiro says before the whole exercise gets any more derailed. “_Focus_.”

—

Unlike the rest of the team, Kosmo has most of his days free; some days he sniffs around the Holts’ dog or plays chauffeur for the space mice, and on other days he simply disappears, only reappearing whenever Keith calls for him.

It's a little known fact that on those days, Kosmo likes to nap in Shiro’s office and flop at his feet for a while. He stays quiet and hidden whenever Shiro is holding a conference call, so Shiro has never felt the need to tell anyone where Kosmo likes to go; plus he keeps treats in the bottom drawer of his desk, and they would go to waste. 

On his worst days, it almost feels like Kosmo is guarding him. 

Shiro’s reviewing his correspondence from the rest of the Coalition when Kosmo pops in with a flash of ozone. Absentmindedly he puts his hand out so Kosmo can come and greet him, but instead of a wet nose, he feels something stiff.

He pauses the holovid and looks over. Kosmo wags his tail at him, a folded note clamped firmly between his teeth. It has, Shiro decides, an obscene amount of hearts drawn around the edges, discernible even through all of the dog slobber blurring the ink.

Kosmo drops the note at his feet and Shiro picks it up against his better judgment. It’s addressed to _MY MOONLIT BEAUTY_, surrounded by little glittery stars and what looks like a grey frog crouching on top of a shooting star. He squints at it for a long time.

“Where did you get this?” Shiro asks. Kosmo barks and pushes past his legs to get to his usual napping spot under the desk. Shiro considers it and gingerly puts it aside, mindful of how wet it is. He wipes his hands on his pants and goes back to his correspondence.

He doesn’t realize until later that all the drool soaked into the paper enough for the ink to leave behind smudges on his desk, and unfortunately for him, it was mostly legible, albeit backward.

_Your raven locks flow_  
_Gently into my weeping heart_  
_Pouncing cat in moonlight_

_[smudge] Ling_

Shiro grimaces. He’s certain there are too many syllables for a proper haiku, and when he consults the crew rosters after scrubbing his desk clean, he’s also certain he knows who wrote the letter. Even worse, he’s pretty sure he knows who it’s meant for.

Officer Ling turns an interesting shade of grey when Shiro silently hands him the love letter after his shift on the bridge, and when he raises an eyebrow at him, he gulps and flees.

—

He starts to suspect that there’s something else going on when Officer Fury, happily married for five years to a woman who also works on the Atlas, loses it too.

“I’ve always liked dogs,” Fury says wistfully as Kosmo darts by him to jump up on Shiro. He tries to offer his hand to Kosmo, who sniffs it with great prejudice before settling behind Keith’s usual seat. Fury looks briefly disappointed; then he perks up and tilts his head in interest as Keith walks into the conference room, hands in his pockets and all broad shoulders and clean lines. He whistles low, looking besotted by way of bludgeoning to the head.

Shiro politely clears his throat. Fury whirls his head back around and turns pale at the very mild look Shiro gives him. “Sorry, sir,” he squeaks, and hurriedly starts shuffling his report on the Atlas’s shielding capacities.

—

The last straw comes one afternoon as Keith and Pidge leave the war council together ahead of Shiro, who is the last one out like always; Pidge crashes into a short woman carrying plant samples, who promptly drops half of them.

“Oh no—Bradley, I’m so sorry! Here, let me help you up—“ Pidge bends down, but Bradley drops the rest of her plants and brushes past her just as Shiro emerges from the conference room and comes to a stop.

“Hi Keith,” Bradley says breathlessly, leaning awkwardly against the wall. She pushes her hair behind her ear and looks up hopefully through her lashes. She looks like she's one breeze from falling over.

“Uh, Bradley?” Pidge says, surprised. “Aren’t you supposed to be monitoring these plant samples with Mom?”

“I was just wondering,” Bradley continues as if Pidge hasn’t said anything at all, “perhaps you didn’t know—Botany has music nights—we’d really love to hear you sing—I bet you have such a rich baritone!”

Keith, who has never sung in Shiro’s memory, says bewilderedly, “What?”

“We could make beautiful music together,” she tries again. “Douglas is so keen to learn about Galran love songs, perhaps you can teach us—?”

Keith glowers at her. “No, thanks.”

“But—“

"I said no."

“_Okay_,” Shiro says firmly, mindful of the way Keith looks like he’s a second away from throwing a punch. He steps in between them. “That’s enough.”

Bradley flushes badly, her eyes blinking owlishly behind her glasses, and Shiro almost feels bad when he nudges her away from Keith none too gently. Almost. She snatches her plant samples from Pidge and flees without another word.

“Huh,” Pidge says. Her gaze darts back and forth from Keith to Bradley's receding figure. “Weird.”

Shiro asks, “What was that?”

“I don’t know.” Keith throws his hands up. “I don’t know why they keep coming up to me. They never leave me alone!”

He stalks off before Shiro can say anything.

—

An intelligence report from the Blade of Marmora makes its way back to the Atlas a week later. It describes an abandoned research facility that reportedly overlooks an empty planet in the Karthulian system, once built and funded by Honerva herself but now in complete disrepair. There are supposedly laboratories scattered all over the planet’s surface, most of them burned down and the surviving few booby-trapped to hell and back; the report notes that these stories have not yet been substantiated. 

“It’s flimsy,” Shiro says, pulling up the holovids that the Blade sent along. The planet, Karthulian-5, flickers into view and rotates slowly, a jagged half-circle structure floating above the planet’s orbit along the northern hemisphere. He studied it for hours when the transmission first made it through communications. He’s thought about a different facility like it for so often; but for now he ignores the déjà vu and the look Keith shoots him. “So far it’s the first real lead we’ve gotten, and it won’t hurt to investigate.

“The Blade reports that the main facility itself is occupied by a faction of Galra, but they couldn’t discover who's leading them. We’ll go in and see if there’s any info we can recover.”

“Voltron will take the lead,” Keith says, and the team nods. “It’ll be easier for us to maneuver through any defenses still standing. We'll bring back anything we can find.”

“Atlas will stand by, but if there’s a battle it will be tight,” Shiro warns. “From the looks of it, that facility doesn’t look too stable.”

Shiro stands, the meeting adjourned. “Battle stations, everyone. We arrive in a few hours.”

When the Atlas emerges from the wormhole, a giant warship drops its cloaking device and starts firing before they can pull up their shields. The Atlas rocks violently as they’re hit; Shiro hangs on to the command console and issues orders rapid-fire so that Voltron can get out there without being shot down.

Voltron launches into battle, the MFE behind them, and the battle is over as quickly as it started. He watches as the facility splinters off and falls into the planet below, as familiar to him as a bad memory.

And when the prisoners are brought on board, it turns out the warlords occupying Karthulian-5 are familiar too.

—

Ezor and Zethrid both look a lot worse for wear since the last time they met. Half of Zethrid’s face is marred by a massive burn, the eye on that side unseeing; Ezor has an eyepatch, and half of her tendril is missing. They’re still infuriatingly obstinate.

“Why would we keep track of the crazy witch?” Zethrid demands, propping her feet up on the interrogation table. “I’ve had enough of her bullshit, and Lotor’s too.”

“How are we sure she’s not done with you?” Keith crosses his arms. “You’re occupying one of her former labs, you’re guarding one of her dead planets, you expect us to believe you’re not still working together?”

Zethrid snorts. “Believe whatever you want, it won’t change a thing. Besides, what exactly did you think you were going to find? There’s nothing but ashes down there, Lotor saw to it himself years ago.”

"Look," Ezor says. "The whole point of us being there was getting away from her in the first place. She’s sucked that planet dry, there’s nothing there for her.“

Shiro sighs and considers his options. He shares a brief glance with Keith, who raises an eyebrow at him, and takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says. “Say I believe you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Ezor says. “But go on.”

“We’re telling the truth,” Zethrid says angrily. “We’re staying as far away from the witch as we can, and if any of you are smart, you should too.” 

“We can’t. You know we’re not going to let her keep destroying the universe,” Shiro says. Then he pulls out his bargaining chip. “You can be on this ship when we fight her, or you can tell us everything you know and we’ll let you go.”

Ezor and Zethrid exchange long looks.

“How do I know we can believe you?” Zethrid demands.

Keith smiles grimly, coming up to his shoulder. “Can you risk it?”

Even after that, all they learn is old history and hearsay. Still, it’s better than nothing. It's when Keith gets close to them that the real trouble starts.

“Whoa,” Ezor interrupts. She rears back, her tendril waving furiously. “Which one of you keeps doing that?” Her nose twitches, and she sneezes. “That is _really_ coming on strong.”

Zethrid frowns, dropping her boots back to the floor. She sniffs the air too and turns an incredulous look at Keith. “Aren’t you a little old to be spreading it around like that?”

Keith blinks. “Spreading… what, exactly?”

“_Vrestat_,” Zethrid says. “What’s it called, the mating madness. Pheromones.”

“I think it’s the worst I’ve ever seen,” Ezor says in awe, rubbing her nose. She has to bring up both hands, handcuffed as they are. “I’ve never seen anyone put it out like that, not even in school.”

“I’m not doing anything!” Keith glowers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“_Ohhhh_, I get it! You’re a late bloomer, aren’t you?” Ezor looks sympathetic. “Is this your first time? Didn’t anyone teach you how to control it yet?”

“Control what—” Keith scowls. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

“No, this is more interesting than the old witch!” Ezor looks fascinated. “I didn’t even know it could get that strong.” She casts a knowing look around the room. “Ooh, I bet it’s been a bad couple of quintants.”

There was a deeply uncomfortable silence.

“Okay, that explains a lot,” Pidge says slowly, looking thoughtful. “Two days ago I came out of my room and some dude was trying to recite bad poetry at your door at like, six in the morning. It was _six in the morning_, Keith.”

Shiro turns around just in time to catch the reddening face of Officer Ling, who looks deeply and utterly mortified.

The interrogation quickly falls apart after that.

Rizavi stands up. “Okay,” she says loudly, clapping her hands, “who here has felt personally victimized by Keith Kogane for no reason at all?”

Everyone turns to look at Keith, who whirls around in sudden panic.

One by one, most of the crew in the room begins to raise their hands, and there’s a look of dismay on Keith’s face. Then sheepishly, Hunk and Pidge raise their hands too. Lance and Allura keep their hands down, but they don't look surprised either.

“You two?” Keith says, and the way his voice breaks halfway through would be funny if he didn’t look like he wanted to sink into the floor forever. He sinks into the closest chair instead.

“Sorry man,” Hunk says apologetically. “At first I thought it was like, a normal crush right? It happens. But it was really out of left field, it was so, so weird. I’d feel super warm and fuzzy around you one day, but then the day after it’d be back to nothing. And it’s been going on for months!”

Pidge shrugs. “I started mapping it out a few months ago when everyone started going crazy around you, but only around you. I assumed you were putting out some leftover Altean woo from your nebulous soul connections or whatever. I should’ve known it was weird Galra biology at play.”

Keith groans and puts his hands over his face. 

Finally, Shiro has to ask. “What are you all talking about? I haven’t felt different around Keith.”

Even Lance shoots him a look of disbelief.

Pidge looks taken aback; she makes a weird face at Hunk, who shakes his head at her. Then Hunk asks, “Haven’t you noticed Keith’s weird… thing?”

“I’ve noticed how bizarrely my crew has been acting, yes,” Shiro says dryly. 

“Okay, but have you felt it? You know, warm butterflies in your stomach… I don’t know, help me out here, guys.”

Shiro considers it for a long minute. The thing is, he’s always felt warm butterflies when it comes to Keith. It’s normal.

“I haven’t really noticed anything out of the normal,“ he confesses, and he hasn’t. Keith’s head jerks up at that, and he gives Shiro a long inscrutable look. The corner of his mouth turns slightly down before he lets out a sigh.

“Don’t worry, Shiro,” Lance says, clapping his shoulder. Behind him, Pidge lays her head down on the table. “We haven't felt it either! I mean, sometimes I feel itchy around Keith here but eh, I think it comes with the territory. _Galra cooties_,” he adds in a loud aside.

“What are cooties?” Allura asks, brows furrowed.

“Evil little fuzzy things that brainwash you into liking mullets, obviously,” Lance says sagely. “But we’re smart enough to avoid them, so we should feel grea—_ulp_,” he chokes as Veronica elbows him hard. "Ver_onica_!"

Keith shoves his chair back with a loud screech. “How do I make it stop?”

Zethrid shrugs, looking like she could sorely use a bucket of popcorn. “Fuck it out, fight it out, lots of ways to make it stop. It’s a _mating_ mechanism, paladin. It’s something you do when you want to fuck someone else. And,” she adds pointedly, “you’re supposed to reign it in when you do. It’s polite.”

“Are you sure you’re not doing it on purpose?” Ezor says. “Wow, that’s embarrassing. For you, not for us, obviously.”

“No,” Keith says. He scowls down at them. “How am I supposed to make it stop when I don’t know how I made it start in the first place?”

Ezor and Zethrid look at each other. Then Zethrid waggles her brows and says, “Why don’t you ask Acxa? I’m sure she can teach you some manners.”

_Oh_, Shiro thinks, but he shouldn't be surprised at all. He files it away, just another puzzle piece that he’s apparently missed in Keith’s life.

—

When he finally tracks Keith down after that disaster of an interrogation, he goes to the hangar. It's the first time he's approached the Black Lion in nearly a year. The sight of her feels like visiting a home he lost years ago, and he hesitates.

Acxa’s coming down the ramp; she blinks in surprise upon seeing him, and they nod at each other.

“He’s hiding up there,” she says. “I offered to help him with his _vrestat_ but he refused.”

Shiro feels his heart constrict but he ignores it like usual. “Acxa,” he says. “How dangerous is it?”

She mulls over her words for a second and finally says, “Only a little. It’s the Galra mating drive, all Galra go through it eventually. But they call it the madness for a reason. It tends to cause problems when you can’t control it.”

“For others?”

“No, that effect is usually mild. It wears off on the people around you after enough exposure. Most of the danger is to the Galra themselves. At worst it can burn you up and drive you mad.”

At his look, she adds kindly, “But it’s not hard to learn control, and it will pass. It’s just easier to give in and find a partner in my experience. Tell him it’s not the end of the world, it’s only his first. He’ll listen to you more than me, I think.”

Keith is curled up in the pilot seat when Shiro approaches. “Keith,” he says. 

“It’s not every day you get told you’ve been making people do things,” Keith says bitterly. He tilts his head back with a grimace. “How long has that been going on? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“We can work around it,” Shiro says gently, touching his shoulder. “Acxa says there are ways to control it, and it's only temporary. Maybe we can contact Krolia and ask her for advice.”

Keith shakes his head. “Not for another month, she’s under radio silence with Kolivan.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. After a moment, eyes still closed, he asks tentatively, “You don’t feel anything, do you? Did I—make you do anything?” 

“No, Keith,” Shiro says. “I promise.”

Keith’s shoulders slump in what Shiro thinks might be relief. “That’s what I thought.”

He opens his eyes and gazes up at him. Shiro has no idea how to read it. "Okay. I'll start working with Acxa tomorrow." Keith looks away. "If she says there's a way, I'll do it."

—

For a spaceship, there are surprisingly few places to watch the stars bleed by as they hurtle through space. One of them is the observation deck that overlooks the training rooms, meant mainly for studying the morning drills; it boasts a stunning view through a round skylight that the Atlas opens for him. This late at night, Shiro likes to take his work from his sorely windowless office and settle in on the floor, legs hanging over the edge of the catwalk, with a stark reminder of why he’s out here in the first place.

He gets to his feet to stretch and notices two figures sitting cross-legged from across each other in the training room below, close enough for their knees to touch. They face each other for a long time; the next time Shiro gets up to stretch, they’re rolling up to their feet, and he watches as they start sparring fiercely. They’re fast and good; one of them dodges a punch and twists it, takes it as an opportunity to toss them head over heels to the other side of the room.

Shiro knows that move; he’s the one who taught it to him. It’s Keith down there sparring with Acxa, whose hood falls down to reveal her distinct purple hair. The last time he saw Keith was in the Black Lion; no one has seen or heard from him since he's asked Acxa to teach him how to control the _vrestat_, and his absence pokes at him every day.

Keith offers her a hand up and Acxa takes it, a pretty smile on her face. They move apart and start again: this time it’s graceful, fluid, and harmonized with each other, more of a dance than a fight. 

It’s early for him, but Shiro thinks that he may return to his office after all.

—

According to Zethrid, the last known whereabouts of Honerva were reported to be somewhere near Olkarion nearly three decaphoebs ago. The Coalition weren't able to reestablish contact with the Olkari yet and this is as good of a time as any.

Unfortunately, it coincides with a planned drop-off with Captain Olia and the rebel forces; Atlas stays behind while Voltron works reconnaissance. 

It’s the first time in a while that Voltron goes on a mission without him, and Shiro can’t bring himself to leave the command console. They’re hovering behind an uninhabited planet waiting for the rendezvous with Voltron, and Shiro stares out into space and tries not to let his worst fears get the better of him.

“Incoming transmission from Voltron, sir,” Veronica says, already patching it through. He sits up. There’s an earsplitting crackle of static that Shiro winces at before Pidge’s voice, faint with pain, comes through.

“—_something is wrong with Keith_, do you hear me? Atlas, come in, have medical on standby—”

Shiro’s heart stops.

The Lions have limped into the hangar with the Black Lion tethered between Yellow and Green by the time Shiro makes it down there, the medical staff behind him. Hunk is the first to descend, Keith knocked out in his arms, Kosmo hobbling alongside them with a bad leg.

The rest of Voltron looks battered too: Hunk’s visor is cracked, the start of a black eye pinching his left eye closed; Pidge holds her side, hobbling down the ramp; and Allura has Lance’s arm slung around her neck as she helps him walk. She too has her visor cracked.

Shiro has to reach deep inside for a semblance of calm when Hunk carefully places Keith on the stretcher. He looks small and pale, face tight with pain and already starting to bruise.

“What happened?” Shiro demands as soon as they wheel Keith away, Kosmo following after him.

Pidge shakes her head. “We ran into Honerva, and she had three robeasts with her. It was a trap.” 

"We only got out of there with the help of the Olkari," Allura says sadly. "Their planet was destroyed, but we've sent them on their way to the nearest Coalition planet for refuge."

Shiro should be glad that they've all gotten out, and he is, but his mind went with Keith. He rubs his face tiredly. "Come on guys. Let's get you fixed up."

He nearly collides with Romelle at full speed just as he nears the medical bay.

“Shiro!” Romelle grabs his arm in a surprisingly painful grip. She bends over, hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. “There you are—Keith, he’s run off—” 

“What?”

“He woke up and he just went berserk!” She wrings her hands. “I was only trying to check if he had any more injuries, and I think I might have startled him because he pushed us off of him and he made this awful sound—”

“Romelle—” 

“—then he got Kosmo to poof him out of there!” 

There are only a few places on the Atlas where Kosmo would’ve taken him, and fewer places still where Keith would have hidden. He swiftly turns on his heels and breaks into a run, Romelle struggling to follow.

“He was burning up, and his vitals were rocketing,” Romelle says. “He didn’t look so good, I don’t know what Honerva did to him—”

Keith’s room is empty. His office is empty. Shiro thinks hard, heart beating in staccato, and then he turns around and runs for his own room, leaving Romelle long behind.

It’s a long shot. He hasn’t invited Keith in his rooms on the Atlas yet, never had the time nor the courage, and he’s regretting his choices now. Once he would’ve known where exactly Keith would have gone to hide, and he wouldn’t be wasting time running around his ship while his best friend runs off in a fever dream.

There’s a small crowd of officers passing through the adjoining hallway, who scramble to part for him as he runs past. He thinks they might be asking him questions, but he doesn’t hear nor care as he fumbles at his keypad. He has to enter his passcode twice before he gets it right.

When his door finally opens, it’s empty and dark, and Shiro wants to tear his hair out.

Wrong again; but then he hears the hiss of the shower running, and the air conditioning is cranked down so low that Shiro has to suppress a shiver.

“Keith?”

There’s a low growl as Kosmo slinks out of the darkness into the frame of light from the hallway, his eyes flashing blue. He whines when he sees him, badly limping with his tail between his legs, and Shiro follows him deeper into the room. He turns the lights on as Kosmo paws at the bathroom door. 

He finds Keith unconscious in the bathtub, head buried in his knees as cold water runs rivers down the paladin armor. He’s radiating heat, and even though Shiro remembers how hot Keith runs on a normal day, this is beyond the pale. When Shiro goes to pick him up, his head lolls against his shoulder, lashes dark and heavy against his cheeks; Shiro supports his head and tips him into bed. Keith curls up into a tight ball on his side when Shiro finally moves away, a crown of dark hair spilling over his pillows. 

Behind them, Kosmo whines and jumps up on the bed beside him. “Keep him safe for me,” he says, and with one last look at Keith, he leaves.

“Whatever Honerva did to him isn’t easily undone,” Allura says slowly, moving her hands over Keith, whose fever has grown worse since Shiro had left him here. Her marks glow, rendering the lines of her concerned frown in harsh light. She looks exhausted. “She’s aggravated his _vrestat_, as far as I can tell. It’s meddling with his quintessence, and very badly too.”

“How bad?”

Allura’s shoulders slump. Quietly she says, “It’s destroying him from the inside out.” She bites her lip. “I think… I may be able to undo the very worst of it, but he must go through the rest on his own.”

“...Okay,” Shiro says. He goes to feel Keith’s forehead, and Keith moans at the touch, hands halfheartedly coming up to try and catch Shiro’s hand. He was pale before but he's bloodless now, eyes unfocused and hazy, sweat beading on his face. Shiro takes his hand, wondering if he can quell the shaking if he squeezes hard enough. “Okay. Whatever you can do. Please, Allura.”

She takes Keith’s other hand, and their eyes glow in unison. It’s so bright that Shiro has to look away, only able to guess at what’s happening whenever Keith’s hand twitches violently in his.

When it’s over, Allura collapses into her chair and starts rubbing her temples, heaving a heavy sigh. The bags under her eyes look darker, but Keith is breathing easier now, and Shiro is so thankful he could cry.

“Shiro.” Allura hesitates on her way out, a tired and grim-looking Lance waiting by the door for her. Kosmo goes with them, leg badly burned and in need of immediate medical attention now that Keith no longer needs him. Shiro looks up from where he’s hunched over at Keith’s side, watching his chest slowly rise and fall. She shakes her head and smiles gently at him. “It will be alright.”

He asks, “How are you so sure?”

And Allura says, “He has you.”

Shiro leaves, just for a moment, to grab a medical kit. He comes back to Keith missing from his bed and in his flash of panic he nearly misses the sound of the shower running again. This time the bathroom door is locked, and he can’t hear anything beyond the water.

He tries knocking. “Keith, if you’re in there, say something.”

No one answers for a long while. Then, “I’m here.”

“Keith,” Shiro says as softly as he can, pressing his palms against the door. “Please let me in.”

“No,” Keith says, his voice hoarse and low. Shiro has to strain to hear him. “Please just—,” and at the hitch in his voice, Shiro has to step back before he breaks the door down. “I. I—I can handle this.”

“I’m not letting you do this alone,” Shiro says, and he means every word of it. “Keith. Let me help you.”

It feels like years have passed when the door finally swooshes open.

Keith stands there, still in his paladin armor; he’s soaked to the skin, water dripping past feverishly bright eyes and jaw clenched tight as he clutches at the door frame to keep himself upright. “Shiro,” he says, and he sounds so desperate that Shiro immediately goes to him, gently pulls him back into the room towards his bed. 

Keith falls in gracelessly, face in his hands, and Shiro kneels on the floor between his legs as he pushes his wet hair back to feel his forehead. He’s still scorching hot. Shiro reaches over and turns his lamp on to see Keith’s lip split and bleeding and a bruise smeared into his cheek. Keith’s holding himself like there are more wounds than Shiro can see; he shudders as Shiro gently pulls off his boots, human hand wrapped around the delicate curves of Keith’s ankle.

One by one Shiro takes his armor apart. He reaches for the buckles of his gauntlets, keeping his movements slow and steady so as not to startle Keith, who looks ready to bolt at any moment. Keith's hands shake when he finally removes the gloves, and as soon as Shiro lets go of them they clench into fists against his thighs. Each time Shiro undoes a hidden latch and takes off another piece of armor, Keith stiffens up, breathing hard, until he reaches for the thigh plates and Keith whimpers.

Shiro looks up to see how hard Keith is biting down on his lower lip, eyes squeezed shut. There’s a cut bleeding sluggishly on his jaw, just under the scar Shiro gave him, and he looks absolutely miserable.

The last piece Shiro has to take off is the chest plate, but when Shiro tries to gently lift his arms to get at the buckles lined down the sides, Keith flinches back. “Keith,” he says soothingly, but Keith shakes his head vehemently.

“I’ll do it,” he says through his teeth, and Shiro sits back on his haunches to watch as it takes him three tries to get the buckles undone and pull the chest plate over his head, tossing it violently at the wall. 

Then there’s just the undersuit left between them. Keith looks down at him, dimly haloed in gold from the lamp, lips pressed thin. Shiro’s caught by the weight of his gaze, the way his pupils expand and narrow into slits, the light catching them the same way they did in the hazy memories he retains of their fight in the cloning facility. He looks like he’s about to cry.

Shiro takes his time opening up the medical kit, digging out the disinfectant and bandages, laying them neatly in his lap. He says quietly, “I’m going to look at that cut on your face first, if you’ll let me.” 

He waits as Keith sucks in air shakily, and when he finally nods, Shiro inches forward. He cups Keith’s face, turning it gently into the light; the light from his arm illuminates how flushed Keith is, how he jerks back in slight movements until Shiro presses a bandage over the cut. For a second, he gives in and runs his thumb over that terrible scar. He still dreams about it: the hot hiss of flesh burning as Keith screams his name underneath him, the slow fall into a blinding abyss, and above all, how close he had been to destroying everything he had. 

“What else hurts?” Shiro asks after a moment, and he starts to pull his hand away long after he should have.

Something in Keith breaks and he says, “I, _Shiro_—” His hand flies up to cover Shiro’s, where his hand still touches Keith’s cheek.

“I can’t stop it,” Keith whispers miserably, and the flush crawls up his neck again as he licks his lips, and he turns in to press his mouth against the meat of Shiro’s palm. “I want, I-I need—” 

Shiro stays very still. “Keith?”

His face crumples, lip caught between teeth that look more like fangs now, and he says, “It feels like—I don’t know, it’s too much. Shiro,” he babbles, closing his eyes, “I need to—to touch, please, _please_ let me.”

Keith reaches for him then, hands sliding down his chest as he pulls at the buttons of his uniform with enough force for one of them to go scattering across the floor. One of his hands slips past the lapel to meet skin, hot enough to brand the skin over his heart.

And suddenly, Shiro realizes what he’s asking for. And now, he knows those dreams were a warning, because this—he wants it so badly, and the moment he takes it is the moment he ruins the last thing he could never keep. He wants—

He wants what he can't have.

He moves away. “I can get Acxa,” he says, stumbling over the words.

“No.” Keith grabs his wrist, his fangs flashing. “I don’t want Acxa here, Shiro—“

Keith pulls him down, whispers, “Sorry, I’m—sorry,” and presses a shaking kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I know you don’t want this, don’t want me—"

_But I do_, Shiro wants to say. The kiss is hot, open-mouthed; Shiro tries to keep up or keep away from temptation and finds he doesn’t know how to do either. Keith takes his face in his hands and makes his choice for him, pressing kisses down his neck as he pushes up against him, chest to chest, heavy-lidded and beautiful.

Somehow Keith switches their places; Shiro goes from his knees to sitting on his bed as Keith straddles his lap, holding his wrists down like he did that day in the gym. The undersuit comes off halfway, the fabric pooled around Keith’s hips. He trails a damp line from jaw to clavicle, nipping every so often until he bites down; Shiro hisses, but Keith soothes it over with a tiny lick, and he bucks up into that hot mouth. Shiro tugs his hands free and wraps them around Keith’s thighs, trying to pull him closer.

Keith wraps his arms around his neck, and Shiro steadies him by the waist, hands falling to his hips as Keith kisses him over and over, punctuated by hitches in his breath whenever Shiro strokes whatever skin he could find. Keith frantically grinds up against him with a desperate moan and Shiro gasps into his mouth; he’s shockingly hard, and so is Keith. When Shiro draws him closer, the contact makes them cry out together, and Shiro wants nothing more than to drag Keith down into his bed and hear what he sounds like when Shiro swallows him down.

_Enough_. Shiro forces himself to retreat, even as Keith makes a noise and tries to follow him. He strokes Keith’s face and presses their foreheads together, trying to catch his breath, trying so hard not to return to that mouth and drown it in kisses, thinking of how badly mishandled this has become. Doing it like this is a bad idea. “Keith,” he says, “I shouldn’t be the one to do this for you.”

Keith flinches back as if struck. He bites his lip hard enough to bleed, two tiny wounds on a swollen lower lip that Shiro wants to lick away and can’t. Shouldn’t. He stumbles back, nearly falling off Shiro’s lap in his haste to dismount, and Shiro has to catch his arm before he can injure himself more.

The contact makes him moan and he slumps into the bed near Shiro, not quite touching him but close enough. “You’re the only one,” Keith mumbles, looking at him with wet eyes, devastated and devastating at once. “I tried to meditate like Acxa said to, but I can’t stop thinking—I feel like I'm going crazy—I _need_ you.”

He remembers what Acxa said to him then: _It can burn you up and drive you mad_.

Shiro has to choose, and losing Keith was never an option.

"Okay," he says, and he has to clear his throat, and says again, "Okay." He takes Keith's hand, kisses the bruised knuckles. "Anything you need," he promises, "you can have. I’ve got you." And he means every word.

And when Keith kneels on the bed, whispering, “Please, please,” pressing kisses to the corner of his mouth, Shiro falls down with him.

—

The night passes in a haze: Keith, naked in his bed, legs splayed and trembling as Shiro leaves little bites up his thighs; Keith, hips stuttering as his cock leaks against his stomach, reaching for him again and again; Keith, whimpering as Shiro finally slings a leg over his shoulder and kisses the head of his cock until he's weeping for it. When Shiro swallows him down, he closes his eyes to the sound of Keith begging for him and doesn't know how he can ever give this up.

Later, much later, he leans his forehead between Keith's shoulder blades, arm wrapped around his waist to hold him down as Shiro presses up and inside him, and he knows he can't give this up, not while he's still breathing. Keith drops his head back against his shoulder with every slow thrust; when Shiro murmurs in his ear, "Come on, let go for me," he falls apart with a sob, a stray tear slipping down into his hair, and Shiro wants to keep him forever.

At some point he can't keep up. Shiro loses time to sharp kisses and heated eyes with cat-like pupils. He blinks and Keith is there, already hard again and dropping kisses over his chest, sucking on the skin until it bruises; and it'll be his turn to gasp for air, arching into the bed as Keith holds him open and fucks him ruthlessly until he has to beg off, too sore to come again. 

He dreams of Keith catching him, murmuring, "I love you, I love you, I love you," and he wakes as Keith traces the lines of his face and says quietly, "I want you so much," and he doesn't know which one is the dream and which one is the reality.

—

In the morning, he wakes up to Keith pressed up against his back, knees tucked under his, his steady breathing warming the back of his neck. Shiro shifts until he’s on his back, careful not to rouse him until Keith rolls away in his sleep and Shiro can turn to his other side. He stares at the back of Keith’s head for a very long time.

After his shower, he considers every bruise in the mirror. Only one of them requires any kind of particular attention: a bite Keith left on his shoulder like a promise. He touches it, and decides to leave it.

Keith doesn’t stir when he gently wipes him clean; he changes the bandages, dabs ointment on the cuts, and carefully wraps up the bites. He checks his temperature again and notes that Keith is still a little warm, but not dangerously so. He leaves a bottle of aspirin on the bedside table with a glass of water and tucks Keith in. 

He allows himself to brush the hair out of Keith’s face.

Shiro takes the long way to his office. He passes by Allura and Romelle on the way, neither of whom seem to notice the minor limp he sports. They look relieved when he relays that Keith is safe, and Allura reassures him that she’ll check in on him herself later and make sure he stops by the medical bay when he’s ready.

Romelle sends Kosmo with him, all bandaged up and happily wagging his tail, and when no one is around, he ruffles Kosmo’s mane and tells him that the door is wide open, that Keith is asleep so try not to wake him up.

He thinks Kosmo might look a little insulted as he teleports away, but he’s not very fluent in space dog. 

The day goes like every other day, but Shiro catches himself spending long moments drifting in and out of meetings. Mostly, he feels lost. And he doesn’t know how to stop thinking about the way the hair at the nape of Keith’s neck sticks up.

When he returns to his room, his room is empty, with only the crumpled sheets at the foot of his bed to show that anyone had been there at all.

Shiro takes his time putting his room to order. He shakes out the sheets, makes his bed, restocks the first aid kit that had been knocked over when he had Keith in his arms. He finds the missing button on his uniform after accidentally stepping on it, and after great consideration, places it on his bedside table. When he's done he sits down on the bed, and because he's alone, Shiro gives in and buries his face into the pillows to breathe in the smell of them.

He thinks, very briefly, about giving Keith space. 

Then he thinks about all the space he's forced between them since Keith had the courage to love him and to save him. To tell him he'd find him, no matter how lost. And Shiro knows that if he fails Keith now, he will never have him again.

He takes a moment to be brave, and gets up to find him first.

—

He finds Keith staring out into space on the observation deck, his legs dangling over the edge. 

Keith doesn't look away when he says, "I saw you up here all the time, but you never seemed to notice."

He's covered up with one of the sweaters in Shiro's closet, only slightly baggy around the neck; the idea of Keith wearing his clothes after spending all night in his bed sends him reeling with the hot curl of want burning in his chest. "I saw you," Shiro says finally. 

He sits down next to him, and looks at his hands. "I was always looking at you. I saw you here with Acxa the other day, and I thought, _god, I wish I could see you all the time_." 

"So then why did you stop talking to me?"

"I didn't plan on it." Shiro closes his eyes and remembers falling with only Keith's face to guide him. "I needed time to deal with everything, with you."

Keith makes a wounded noise, a white knuckled hand gripping the railing. He says, "I thought you didn't want me." 

He looks over, memorizing the way Keith's face looks in starlight. "I was so scared of how much I wanted you. I didn't know what I'd do if I lost you."

Keith looks up at him then, eyes wide.

"Keith, I almost killed you. It scared me then, and it scares me now, the things I'd do to you given the chance. I didn't know how to face up to that, or to you. I could never forgive myself," he says quietly.

There's a long moment of silence. Keith sighs. "It wasn't you. And there was never anything to forgive."

Shiro leans back on his arms and looks up into the window of stars. "I know. I still thought it." He pauses. "I also might've thought you were dating Acxa."

There's a huff, and Keith reaches out to take his hand and squeezes it tight. "Shiro, you're the only one I've ever wanted."

"Keith—"

"I love you. I've always loved you. Do you?"

"Yeah," Shiro whispers. "I do. I love you."

Keith gives him a smile, bright and beautiful. He wants to kiss it off, feel that smile for himself, and it hits him that he can.

So he does.


End file.
